Breaking the Code
by Redconky
Summary: Fred contemplates breaking the "no exes of mates and brothers" rule with Angelina.
1. Chapter 1

**Breaking the Code**

**Rated "T" **

**George contemplates breaking the "no-exes of brothers and friends" rule with Angelina**

_I own nothing of the Harry Potter universe, nor am I making any money. I'm usually all about Ron and Hermione (with a little Harry and Ginny on the side), but I've always been curious how George and Angelina bridged the gap between shared grief and sharing . . . more. Still working on the "Magical Mystery Tour de Force" series, but I had to get this out. Reviews are greatly appreciated _

There's an unspoken code among men, and George being a man (possibly more than most being one of six brothers and having only one sister) knew this code very well: you don't pursue your mate's ex-girlfriend – or your brother's.

It's one of those things any decent bloke wouldn't do.

But here she was, standing in front of him, looking more comely than ever: glowing chocolate skin, large eyes darker than midnight framed by lashes that went on forever, hair cascading abundantly down her shoulders, and her perfectly rounded arse he'd frequently stare at during quidditch practice. . . _no, no, don't think of that_, he told himself.

It was then he wondered silently if the statute of limitations expired when aforementioned mate or brother died.

"George?" she said softly while touching his arm. "Are you alright? Maybe I shouldn't have come . . . today of all days."

It was the first of April, his and Fred's shared birthday, though for the first time, Fred wasn't there to share it with him. It was also April Fool's Day, the equivalent of Black Friday in the muggle world to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and as much as he'd considered hurling the alarm clock against the wall and drawing the covers completely over his head, George knew he had to open the shop and conduct business as usual. He could almost hear Fred in his head: _"This is the one day a year that makes or breaks us! This is no time for a lie-in! Move it!"_

"No, no, it's fine . . . better than fine, actually," George replied. "Sometimes my feet are here but my head is somewhere else. Sorry about that. Now, how many dungbombs did you want for your nephew?"

"Three. If I get any more than that, I think my sister will stop speaking to me. Though, come to think of it, that might be a good thing."

"Why is that? I mean, if you don't mind me asking."

"She's always on about how it's time I settled down, got married, had a couple of kids, not let myself get so wrapped up in work. She just doesn't understand how hard it's been since . . ."

"I understand."

The two began to gently push through the crowd. George thought Angelina was right behind him, but after a couple of minutes, he heard her call after him. He turned and saw her unable to push through the snaking queue.

George elbowed his way to her, shouting as he went, "Excuse me! Pardon me! Need to get through!" and finally found himself looking down at her luminous face.

"I have an idea. Come with me," George said while taking her hand gently at first, but tightening the grasp as they wended through the crowded shop.

George let go of Angelina's hand and unlocked the storage room door. She was surprised how much and how quickly she missed his touch when it was gone.

"It's a bit more private back here. Go ahead and pick out whatever strikes your fancy."

"I'll still have to pay."

"Nonsense! You're covered under the 'Friends and Family' discount – 100 percent off."

Angelina smiled at this.

"I'll only accept it on the grounds that when you decide to upgrade your quidditch supplies, you let me do the same."

"How is the owl-order sporting goods thing working out for you?"

"It's been a bit of a slow start, but Johnson's Quidditch Supplies is starting to make a name for itself. Right now we're negotiating an exclusive supplier contract with the Grodzisk Goblins."

"Ah, the team that produced Josef Wronski-"

"Who in turn gave the world the Wronski Feint."

"That'd be quite a feather in your cap."

"I know, it could really help the business take off!"

The two began animatedly chatting about recent trades made in professional quidditch, when Verity told George a customer was arguing about the price of Wildfire Whiz-Bangs.

"Just go ahead and fill your basket with whatever you like. I'll be back in a minute."

Angelina nodded and began to scan the enormous selection of pranking essentials. She spotted some reusable hangmen, which she thought might placate her sister since her nephew needed to improve his spelling. She didn't want to use her wand to get it down, knowing when she was depressed (like today); her magic was sometimes a bit off.

"Guess I'd better do it the muggle way," she muttered while starting to climb the ladder.

George made his way back to where he'd left Angelina. Her basket was there, but she wasn't. He scanned the aisles until it occurred to him to look up.

"Ah – there you are!"

George's sudden appearance startled Angelina, which made her lose her grip and fall 30 feet. Panic-stricken and not having time to reach for his wand, all George could think of to break her fall was to catch her. She landed on top of him, flattening him in the process.

It had been awhile since any woman had been on top of George – nothing kills the libido like grief. For the first time in a long time, George let out a hearty laugh.

"What's so funny? Are you alright?"

"Aces," George replied, trying to catch his breath. "Just thinking how if Fred was here, he'd make some inappropriate remark."

Angelina let out a small giggle. "Yeah, something like, 'What are you doing underneath her? That's my job!'"

The smile ran away from George's face as quickly as it had come.

"I'm sorry – I didn't mean to – I just keep putting my foot in it today," Angelina said as she started to move off of George.

When George thought of this moment later on, no matter how many years later, he never really could articulate what came over him. George placed his hands on her cheeks and let himself look into her eyes the way he'd done in his dreams back at school.

"It's all right."

They stared at each other, not moving and almost forgetting to breathe.

"What are you doing Saturday night?"

"I was thinking of doing inventory. Quarterly taxes are due in a fortnight."

"I'm doing that Monday – shutting everything down for the day. Join me for dinner instead."

It was hard, looking into eyes she hadn't looked into for so long. Angelina remembered hearing once that even twins weren't identical in certain ways: fingerprints, voiceprints, and retinas. She was searching George's eyes now, trying to find how they were different than Fred's. She vacillated between trying to remember Fred and trying to forget, not knowing which one would make it easier to move on. Did moving on include having dinner with her first love's twin brother? Years from now, when anyone would ask her about the moment she gave herself permission to leave Fred in the past, she would remember this very scene.

"Where?"

"Here. I could make . . . something. Not as good as my mum's, but better than beans on toast. I promise."

"What time?"

"Is seven all right?"

"Seven is . . . perfect."

Their eyes remained locked for about 20 more seconds when they were broken out of their mutually-induced trance by Verity, who was visibly embarrassed by interrupting.

"Mr. Weasley, your Dad is here – should I tell him you're . . . indisposed?"

Angelina leapt off of George, hurriedly dusted herself off, and dashed out of the storage room. She'd left in such a hurry that she'd forgotten her selections. George ran his hands over his face, got up, and brushed off his clothes. As he pulled down his waistcoat, he went back into business mode.

"Please tell my father I'll be there in a minute. After that, would you please put these items in a gift basket and send them to Ms. Angelina Johnson in care of Johnson's Quidditch Supplies?"

"What should I put on the card?"

"The what?"

"The gift card, sir. You can't every well send a gift without a gift card."

George thought a moment before answering.

"Lovely to see you again. Please don't run away. Hope to see you Saturday night. George."

"Certainly, sir."

Once Verity was gone, George ran his hands through his hair to make himself presentable to his Dad and the customers. George went out to greet his Dad and ushered him back into the office.

"How're you doing, son?" Arthur Weasley asked his son as the two men sat down.

"Hard to say," George said. "On one hand, I miss Fred terribly."

"Of course – it's to be expected."

"On the other, I just had a very interesting conversation with Angelina Johnson." George couldn't help but let the corners of his mouth curl upward a bit, even though it had ended in a less-than-ideal way.

A smile spread across Arthur's face, causing George's eyebrows to furrow.

"What?" George asked.

"You're thinking of breaking the code, aren't you?"

"DAD!"

"What? You think I didn't notice the way you looked at Angelina whenever she was around? You don't think I saw the green-eyed monster rear his ugly head when Fred put his arm around her or give her a quick peck? You've always had a thing for Angelina."

George sank slightly into his chair.

"I didn't think I was that obvious."

"Maybe not to the untrained observer, but I grew up with two brothers and raised six sons. I know something about why men act and react the ways that they do when it comes to love."

"And?"

"And I think Fred would be fine with it."

"I'm not so sure. Feel like a bit of a vulture."

"Nonsense. Look, I understand why you feel this way. I'd be worried if you didn't show some signs of guilt by contemplating pursuing Angelina, after everything that's happened. But you can't forget to live, son. I would tell him the same thing if it was you who'd died and he was here."

"I'd want you to tell him the same."

"So give him some credit. Don't you think he'd feel the same way?"

"I suppose."

"C'mon. Your mum has fixed all your favorites. She wants to make this birthday the best she can."

"I'll be along in about 20 minutes. I need to take care of a few things before I leave the shop for the day."

"Okay – mind if I use your floo upstairs? I've too much paperwork to apparate comfortably."

"Certainly. I'll unlock the flat door for you."

After seeing his dad off and giving his staff closing instructions, George grabbed his cloak and other overnight items so he could head for the Burrow. This was one night he didn't want to be alone. But he'd have more company than he'd intended.


	2. Chapter 2

**Breaking the Code: Ch. 2**

**Rated "T"**

_George is trying to rebuild his life after Fred's death, but is debating if that includes Angelina. This is the second chapter – I expect there will be one or two more. I don't own anything but this theory and an additional minor character, nor am I making any money, etc. Characters' thoughts are in italics. Reviews are most appreciated _

Shortly after Fred died, George overheard a conversation between Ron and Hermione at the Burrow. Ron's bedroom door was cracked open, and Hermione was spooning Ron from behind on his bed. Though George couldn't see much (and purposefully didn't look long), he could see Ron's face was reddened from crying. He listened long enough to hear Hermione talk about how there are seven stages of grief:

1. shock and denial;

2. pain and guilt;

3. anger and bargaining;

4. depression;

5. the upward turn;

6. reconstruction and working through, and, finally;

7. acceptance and hope.

By his own reckoning, George was at stage six. With his family's help (especially Ron's), George was able to re-open the shop and even invent a few new products. The first three stages kind of blurred together, and the depression lasted for months. The upward turn came when George was able to secure the funds to repair and expand the shop (after the Death Eaters had wrecked the premises with a variety of spells). He took it as a sign he was meant to carry on, so he rolled up his sleeves and began the clean-up (which took nearly three weeks) and supervised the reconstruction (which took two months). Fortunately, business was so good he had repaid 75% of the loan within six months.

The downside of all this was that he wasn't sure what to do with the rest of his life. When it came to personal matters, he felt like he'd slid back into pain and guilt. _How can I go out and have a pint without Fred? Should I even attend a quidditch match when Fred's not here to argue against or bet with me? _Now he had this new wrinkle: Angelina, the one he'd fancied since before Fred asked her to the Yule Ball (though he hadn't told Fred), had bounced back into his life and, to his credit, he'd seized the moment and had asked her over for dinner. She'd agreed, but then Verity had to come in as he was contemplating kissing her. He could smell her perfume and her breath – she'd had something with strawberries in it with her lunch. Then again, it could've been her lip gloss. Either way, he had a difficult time keeping his head in the here and now, especially during his birthday dinner.

He didn't envy his family's predicament one jot: they wanted to make his birthday a happy occasion, but they didn't want to neglect Fred's memory. Dinner had been punctuated with remembrances of Fred, then quick changes of subject to George, but there's only so much one can say about improvements in Skiving Snack Boxes or Canary Creams. As soon as everyone had had their fill of birthday cake and the washing up was done, George surreptitiously grabbed one of his mother's cookbooks and snuck upstairs. It was Wednesday evening and he only had until Saturday to plan a romantic dinner that he actually knew how to cook.

Ginny was the first to notice that George was missing.

"Where's that git of a brother?" she asked no one in particular.

"Maybe the memories of Fred were too much. He probably needed some time alone," Harry offered.

"Nonsense – he has plenty of time to be alone at home. He needs to remember how to be sociable. I'm going to look for him."

"Ginny-" Harry called out, but she was already bounding up the stairs. Harry grimaced.

"And I thought one of the things you liked about my sister was that she's impetuous," Ron ribbed Harry.

"It's a double-edged sword, mate."

Ginny knocked gently on the door and entered before George could completely conceal the cookbook.

"What's that?" Ginny asked while crossing the room.

"What's what?" George replied.

"Behind your back – what are you hiding?"

"Who says I'm hiding anything?"

"Then scoot over. I want to chat with my brother."

"Well, downstairs you've got four to choose from."

"I want to talk to my brother with one ear."

"Don't you think the ones with two ears would be better listeners?"

"I think you listen better with one than most people do with two."

This compliment threw George off his game. _Damn that Ginny – after years of living with pranksters, she'd learned to disarm her brothers' defenses like her mother did_, George thought.

George pulled out the cookbook.

"Getting tired of fry-ups, are we?"

"I need to expand my repertoire," George said. "I'm having someone over Saturday night."

Ginny unleashed a sly grin.

"Well, what does Angelina like?"

"Who said it's Angelina?"

"Dad. He mentioned he saw her at the shop today, and it's the worst-kept family secret that you've always had a soft spot for her."

_She's getting too smart for her own good._

"So, what's on the menu?"

"I don't even have a menu at this point. A lot of this stuff would take more time than I have."

"What time are you expecting her?"

"Seven."

"What time are you closing the shop?"

"Six."

Ginny laughed.

"You can't cook a romantic dinner, set the table, light the candles and change in an hour!"

"You really think I need to change? And light candles?"

"George, have you ever _made_ a romantic dinner?"

George had learned the basics from _Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm a Witch_, but he'd never gone all-out for anyone. He'd always take her out somewhere nice for dinner, but with Angelina he wanted a bit more privacy. Now he was contemplating a change in venue.

"Maybe I should just take her to a restaurant . . . ."

"Oh, no you don't! Do you know how romantic it is for a man to make a woman dinner? It's right up there with a weekend in Paris. It's the stuff of every girl's fantasy! If you back out now, you'll completely sabotage your chances with her."

"But you just said I can't pull it off in an hour."

"What's the point of coming from a large family if you can't lean on them once in awhile? I think it's time to call in reinforcements."

Before George could stop her, Ginny had called for Hermione. Hermione joined them in George's room, and Ginny filled her in.

"George, that's wonderful! It's so . . . I mean, it's just . . . I can't even articulate how lovely it is. Do you need help with the cooking? Oh, of course not – you HAVE to do that yourself, otherwise, it just wouldn't be the same. Maybe the décor, or choosing what you're going to wear . . . ."

"I think if I can get a couple of people to watch the store while I get things ready, that would give me the needed time-"

"What time is she coming?" Hermione asked.

"Seven."

"So we should get there by two," Hermione said.

"You think it's going to take me FIVE HOURS to get everything ready?"

"On second thought, he IS a bloke, so he doesn't need as much primping time," Ginny said.

"Good," George sighed in relief. The longer he could work, the less time he'd have to be nervous.

"I say if we arrive at three that should give him enough time," Ginny said.

George's head landed in his hands. "This is going to be a bloody nightmare."

"Don't worry, George. Everything is going to be fine . . . more than fine . . . breathtaking, in fact," Hermione said while trying to reassure him.

"At this point, I'll be happy if dinner isn't either stone cold or burnt to a cinder," George said.

"What exactly IS on the menu?" Hermione asked.

"We haven't determined that yet," Ginny said.

"Well, let's open this cookbook and see what looks good," Hermione said while plopping on George's left side, while Ginny sat on his right. The hefty cookbook was stretched across all three of their laps. Hermione especially enjoyed it because the moving pictures showed how to execute the step-by-step instructions. Being flanked by two women chatting away about different dishes made George feel oddly domestic, but if this would impress Angelina, this momentary discomfort would be nothing compared to the potential payoff.

After half an hour, Harry and Ron wandered up the stairs to see why a third of the party had disappeared. They were bewildered by the scene in George's room.

"Soup is totally out of the question. It takes too long and you always have to worry about spillage," Hermione said.

"Agreed . . . wait, I've got it!" Ginny exclaimed. "Paella!"

"Ooooh, paella – a dish that looks more impressive than the labor required," Hermione said. "But WHICH paella?"

"What is going here?" Ron nearly shouted. "I thought we were going to get a game of exploding snap going."

"Ronald, we're helping your brother plan a very special evening," Hermione admonished.

"Yeah – you guys could learn something here," Ginny added.

"Who exactly is this evening for?" Harry asked.

"Angelina Johnson," Ginny and Hermione replied in unison.

"Well, don't serve anything with nuts. She's allergic to nuts," Harry said.

"I thought that was Katie Bell," Ron said.

"Was it? I'm not sure now. I know one of the female Gryffindor players was allergic to nuts . . . maybe it was Demelza Robins. Anyway, better avoid them to stay on the safe side."

"So you and Angelina are going out? When did this happen?" Ron asked.

"I wouldn't say we're going out . . . look, she stopped by the store today to get some April Fool's items for her nephew and I invited her over for dinner on Saturday."

"So it's the first date. Very important to get it right," Harry said.

Ron elbowed Harry in the ribs. "But no pressure."

"No pressure? Are you kidding?" Hermione said. "He's setting the tone for the entire relationship with this evening! Everything has to be just _so_."

George felt like his head was going to explode. He thought he could have a nice, simple dinner with some oak-matured mead and good conversation. This was quickly becoming a three-ring circus.

"Look," George began, "I appreciate what all of you are trying to do, but I want to keep this low-key. Angelina's not some high-street, high-maintenance woman. That's one of the things I lo-like about her."

The near-verbal misstep didn't escape anyone's attention, but under the circumstances, everyone chose to ignore it.

"Right – let's focus," Ginny said. "We'll come up with the appetizer, entrée and dessert in the next 20 minutes, then we'll have a game of exploding snap. Agreed?"

"Agreed," everyone else said simultaneously.

"We were talking about paella," Ginny said.

"Oooh, I love paella," Ron chimed in.

"You love anything that isn't moving put on a plate," George said.

"True," Ron admitted sheepishly.

"I see there's a recipe here for chicken and duck paella with orange," Hermione said.

"How about the lamb paella with rosemary?" Harry said, perusing the page upside-down.

"Which has fewer steps?" Ron asked.

"The lamb paella," Ginny said.

"Then let's go with the lamb version," George said, feeling like he was regaining control of his dinner party for two.

"Good. Now for the appetizer," Hermione said while flipping to the section labeled _Appetizers and Starters_. "This looks good – and it keeps with the Mediterranean theme. How about figs with bleu cheese?"

"Nope - it calls for caramelized almonds," Ron said.

"Wait – this recipe for chorizo in red wine you make the day ahead. That would take some of the pressure off," Hermione said.

"What is chorizo?" Harry asked.

"Spanish or Portuguese pork sausage," Hermione said.

"Sounds good," George said. "Now for dessert."

"What was that thing we had with your parents a couple of weeks ago? The thing where they used the thing with blue flames shooting out of it?" Ron asked Hermione.

"Your command of the English language is astonishing," Ginny deadpanned.

"You mean the crème brulee? Where they used the crème brulee torch?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah – that was REALLY good. And just think – you get to play with FIRE!" Ron said. "There must be a spell for using your wand as a blow torch."

"Dad should know – he used it on the Ford Anglia and I'm sure he's used it trying to fix Sirius's motorcycle," George said.

"You know, that could be quite impressive, at the end of the meal," Ginny said. "Something about a man who knows how to use his wand well-"

"GINNY!" Ron, George and Hermione shouted while Harry unsuccessfully tried to repress a wide grin.

"Right, then. Who's up for exploding snap?" George asked while snapping the cookbook shut. He was relieved that the most important part of Saturday night had been figured out.

"I've got the cards right here," Ron said, who then began to shuffle them.

The five of them sat on the floor and played several rounds before they called it a night. George was tired, but he couldn't sleep for more than an hour after he lay himself down. The anticipation of Saturday night was getting the best of him, but raging hormones and heart palpitations finally succumbed to slumber.

"George, this was far more than I was expecting," Angelina said as he cleared the table.

"What were you expecting, exactly?" he called from the kitchen.

"Little more than a fry-up," she replied.

George returned to the table and sat down. In the candlelight, he could see her luminous smile and her right hand resting within his reach. He squeezed it gently.

"Disappointed?"

"On the contrary. I can't remember the last time I ate that well – Christmas, maybe." She was intertwining her fingers with his now. He wondered if she could hear his heart pounding.

"The candles are almost gone. I should get some new ones." George stood up from the table, but was still holding Angelina's hand. She tightened her grip.

"Leave them be."

"But we won't be able to see."

Angelina stood up and gently caressed George's face.

"I can think of things to do in the dark – can't you?" She stood on her tiptoes and kissed George – at first, softly, but with more intensity as George started to kiss back.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" a loud, extremely familiar voice yelled. "HOW COULD YOU BETRAY ME THIS WAY? BOTH OF YOU?"

George told himself it couldn't be. He just couldn't have become a ghost.

"Fred!" George yelled. "Let me explain!"

"WHAT RIGHT DO YOU HAVE? SHE WAS MINE!" Fred swarmed around the room in a rage, extinguishing the candles. He glowed eerily at the new lovers.

"Fred, you hadn't seen her in ages! She wanted more, but you said you weren't ready to settle down!"

"I WAS GETTING THERE! I WAS ALMOST THERE, AND THEN, AND THEN . . . ."

"You died. I'm sorry, but you did. You have no idea how sorry I am. I miss you every day – every minute. But I cared for her long before you noticed her. I just hadn't gathered the courage before she caught your eye, and before I knew it, you'd asked her to the ball. Then you were together, and I thought that was the end of it."

"YOU KNOW THE CODE AS WELL AS ANYONE. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

"I'm not wasting any more time, that's what I'm doing! I love her, all right? She deserves to be happy, and I don't know if she'll pick me for the job, but damn it, I'm applying!"

"AND HOW DO YOU KNOW YOU'RE NOT GOING TO BOTCH IT UP LIKE I DID?"

"Because once she's in my arms, I'm not going to let her go – unless she tells me to."

Fred's ghost hovered over them, locking eyes with George. He then spoke in a lower voice, but it still echoed.

"Don't mess it up. She deserves the best, but I suppose you'll do," Fred said before vanishing into the ether.

George sat straight up in bed, freezing and sweating simultaneously. Had Fred visited him in his dream, or was it his subconscious that was messing with him?

_It doesn't matter_, he thought. _I know what I have to do now._ _I have to sweep Angelina off her feet – with or without the help of a quidditch broom._


	3. Chapter 3

**Breaking the Code, Ch. 3**

**Rated "M"**

_George and Angelina try to move on after Fred's death – possibly together. This chapter is from Angelina's point of view, and yes, this is going to be longer than I expected. The muse is with me right now and I never turn her away. I had to increase the rating to "M" because of the content of at least one coming chapter. Hope you enjoy it. Reviews are fabulous!_

"You've got a package, Angelina," Lee Jordan shouted as he approached her desk. "It's from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

_Lovely – now the inquisition will begin in earnest_, Angelina thought as she slid deeper down into her chair. She didn't slide far enough, however – Lee could tell she was there. Angelina adored Lee – his knowledge of quidditch and his connections as a part-time commentator gave her insight as to who might be in the market for different equipment. He'd also been a good friend, but sometimes, his concern bordered on nosiness.

"Come to think of it," Lee continued without encouragement, "you did take a particularly long lunch today. Did you pay our friend Georgie a visit?"

Angelina didn't realize she'd been holding her breath until she exhaled slowly and for noticeably longer than usual.

"I went to get Andrew some April Fool's goodies and I must have left them behind."

"So, you went to George's shop, chose some products, paid for them, then forgot them?"

"I didn't have to pay-"

"Oi! What makes you so special? I always have to pay . . . oh, wait, never mind," Lee said with a smirk.

Angelina stood up, crossed her arms and glared at Lee.

"Never mind WHAT, exactly?"

"Forget about it."

"No. I really want to know what you're thinking. Tell me."

"I think I have some work to do," Lee said as he practically sprinted from the office.

Periodically during the afternoon, Angelina would look around for Lee to question him further, but to no avail. It wasn't until the end of the day she finally opened the package and read the card:

"_Lovely to see you again. Please don't run away. Hope to see you Saturday night. George."_

Angelina thought about the card for hours. She thought about it while she packed up for home, while she visited her sister's family to drop off the presents for her nephew Andrew, while she prepared her milk and lavender-scented Epsom salt bath to soak her muscles still sore from the fall, and while she lay in the tub. She even read the card while she was trying to find a comfortable position that would let most of her stay underwater.

_Wait a minute – am I or am I not a witch?_ With that, she silently waved her wand to stretch the tub to accommodate her long legs. She also warmed up the water, so she could contemplate the day's events.

Before Verity came back to the storage room, there was a moment. The kind of moment she hadn't experienced in a long time. The kind that makes one's heart flutter like a snitch's wings, creates the need to swallow hard and brings every sense into sharp focus. The rest of the universe ceases to exist and two people become lost in each other. These were sensations she hadn't expected.

George was always Fred's brother who she occasionally caught looking at her in an other-than-a-friend way. It wasn't the kind of looking like some dirty old man looks a young girl way, but the kind that exposed something that was normally hidden. It was the kind of look that made her wish she had learned legilimency. The few, brief times their eyes had met when he'd done this, she'd felt he'd glimpsed into her soul.

That's what had made this afternoon so unsettling – for the first time, George had had a very long look into her eyes, and she was afraid of what he'd seen. While she was trying to see what was different about him so she could distinguish him from Fred, he was looking for something as well, but she wasn't exactly sure what – hope, love, solace, pity – or some combination of the above.

But that wasn't all that was bothering her; she also found herself dissecting the second sentence: _Don't run away_. Yes, it was true she'd fled the scene in a rather dramatic fashion, but she knew he was referring to more. Then there was Lee's remark, basically meaning he wasn't surprised George hadn't charged her, like he knew something about George that she didn't. The theory that was forming in her head was one she wanted to dismiss – the idea that George had romantic feelings for her, and that maybe he'd had them all along, was a bit much to take. "Girl falls for dead first love's twin brother" was something she'd expect to appear as a teaser for a true life feature on the cover of _Witch Weekly_ – on a slow week.

On the other hand, she couldn't deny how he'd made her feel today. If Verity hadn't come in, they might have kissed. They were breathing the same air, almost to the point of fighting for the same oxygen. She closed her eyes so she could remember how his long, slender fingers had caressed her cheeks while his large, steady hands had cradled her head. She imagined, as she lay in the bathtub, how those fingers might explore the rest of her. Would he greedily grab her, or would he stroke her skin and linger over her features?

What she wanted to know – what she desperately needed to know – was if this was about two people seeking a respite from grief, or the start of something new and potentially wonderful. There was only one way to find out.

Angelina drained the tub, rinsed off in the shower, wrapped her hair in a towel, wrapped herself in a thirsty white terrycloth bathrobe, slid into her slippers, and darted to her desk. She pulled out a small piece of parchment along with a quill and ink well and wrote the following note:

_Dear George,_

_Sorry for my sudden departure this afternoon. Thank you so much for sending over Andrew's presents. He deployed one dungbomb before I left and I'm hoping the hangman while motivate him to improve his spelling._

_Of course I'll be there on Saturday. Please let me know what you'd like me to bring a bottle of so we can get the evening off on the right foot._

_Take care,_

_Angelina_

She didn't want to sign it "your friend" for fear of limiting the possibilities, nor did she want to sign it "love" to inadvertently push things forward too fast.

"Okay, Beryl," she instructed her owl, "get this to George Weasley at the Burrow. Don't let me down, girl."

Angelina threw open her window and Beryl vanished into the night sky. A short time later, George found he was awakened by pecking on the window.

"Who in the devil can be sending me a message this time of night?" George muttered while he opened hi s desk drawer in search of an owl treat. Once he retrieved a snack, he opened the window. He didn't recognize the Northern Saw-whet Owl at first, but once he read the message, he remembered Angelina visiting it at the Hogwarts Owlery a few times.

"Hang on a minute, my lovely," George said as he gave Beryl one treat but held the other back so he could reply.

_Dear Angelina,_

_Considering what I'm making, I think a red wine or oak-matured mead would complement the meal perfectly. I'll leave it to you to choose._

_Looking forward to Saturday,_

_George_

George rolled up the parchment, tied it to Beryl's ankle, gave her the last treat, and shooed her out the window.

Even though Angelina was under her covers, she couldn't sleep. She knew she was a heavy sleeper and wanted to know George's reply before she nodded off. When she heard Beryl scratching at the window, she ran to let her inside.

She grinned ear-to-ear when she read his reply.

_Perfect_, she thought.


End file.
